


Icarus

by strwbrryhyuck



Series: Touch [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Bottom Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Crying, Drunk Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Beta Read, Prequel, Smoking, Top Nakamoto Yuta, Unrequited Love, Vomiting, bc i can’t write anything else apparently, bc u know they’re drunk, its almost 6 am i need to go to sleep haha, just for like one second, oh yeah, sorry im kinda illiterate lol, this sounds so much better than it actually is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:25:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23460121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strwbrryhyuck/pseuds/strwbrryhyuck
Summary: “Bed?” Yuta tries again, gripping Doyoung’s shaking hands and kissing his knuckles.Doyoung smiles softly, and lets himself be led back into the comforts of perfumed sheets and the cold skin of a lonely friend.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Nakamoto Yuta
Series: Touch [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687696
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	Icarus

It’s cold out by the time Doyoung unlatches himself from the velvet of his bedsheets to smoke a cigarette on his balcony. The sun has just begun to rise, and he watches as the night fades into the day, watches as the stars disappear into the endless blue of the sky. 

His throat and lungs burn. He prefers menthols, but he was desperate and stole the pack from the counter of the last party he went to. The buzz is stronger than the cold, but Doyoung in his thin silk robe chalks the shaking of his hands to the early morning winter air.

“I thought you said that you’d stop smoking,” Doyoung looks over his shoulder, and there stands Yuta in all his naked glory. His skin looks more flawed than last night, covered in bruises and scratches and hickeys. Doyoung shivers, recalling Yuta’s skin against his, his breath fanning across his neck and hands tugging on his hair. He takes another drag from his cigarette, blinking the haze of smoke from his eyes as he exhales.

“Jesus, I did a number on you,” Doyoung replies, dragging from his cigarette once more and blowing the smoke in the blonde’s face. He scowls, bringing his hand up to pick the cigarette from Doyoung’s mouth and tossing it over the railing. 

“It’s cold,” Yuta says, voice raspy. The sun frames his face, engulfing him in a hazy glow. Doyoung thinks he looks like an angel. Maybe he is, and he’s waiting for Doyoung to fall so he can catch him. Maybe he is, and he’s waiting for Doyoung to go to heaven with him, to leave their mortal bodies below and their souls to rest above. “Come back to bed,”

Yuta touches the side of his face, leaning in to kiss Doyoung’s forehead, curly raven bed head exposing bits of his forehead. Yuta plays with the soft strands between the pads of his fingers.

“Your hair’s gotten quite long,” he comments. In actuality, his hair isn’t even that long. In fact, Yuta’s is even longer, reaching to his shoulders, whereas Doyoung’s doesn’t even reach past his ears. Doyoung hums in response, leaning into Yuta’s touch. His hands shake, and they’re turning purple. He was stealing heat from the cigarette, and a naked Yuta who’s freezing even without the winter weather is stealing the heat from him.

“Bed?” Yuta tries again, gripping Doyoung’s shaking hands and kissing his knuckles. 

Doyoung smiles softly, and lets himself be led back into the comforts of perfumed sheets and the cold skin of a lonely friend.

—

Doyoung and Yuta met each other in college through a past acquaintance. Soon after their first meeting, they met up late at night to soak in each other’s flesh and blur the line between not quite friends but not quite lovers either.

Doyoung did not love Yuta, but the idea of loving him. Sometimes, when Doyoung has had more than one glass of wine and half a pack of cigarettes he’ll think about the blonde, his narrow face and sturdy build, his healing smile and striking eyes. He’ll think of his kind personality and the way he loves Doyoung so tenderly when they end up in each other’s bedrooms late at night, when the sun is laid to rest and the moon and stars blink and shine sleepily from them above.

But Doyoung does not feel affection for him. Only desire. He feels it deep in his marrow that this isn’t to last. And yet, just like Icarus, he flies too close to the sun for a mere taste of his desires.

With Yuta, he is free. But when he is alone with his thoughts, empty bed and even emptier heart, he is bound by chains to his dark thoughts.

Yuta doesn’t love him. He knows this, too. Where Doyoung is in love with the idea, Yuta is in love with the reality. He loves the benefits of mutual understanding in one's desires. The mutual lust for another’s touch, another’s skin. Doyoung’s desire for Yuta and Yuta’s lust for Doyoung dance around each other like the flames of a fire. 

Doyoung just wonders when the flame will be blown out.

—

“Do you ever think you’ll find the one?” Yuta asks one night when they’ve drunk and smoked themselves to near death. Doyoung swears he has one foot in the grave already, body limp and eyes heavy. Yuta looks like even more of an angel in the glow of the moonlight, the dim light caressing each curve of his flesh, the sharp lines of his face and the soft plains of his lips. Doyoung swallows.

“What do you mean?” Doyoung asks, voice small, timid. Despite the doubt flowing through his veins, Doyoung blames it on the alcohol.

“Y’know, the one. The someone who’ll make you feel like you belong to them and them only. Like a soulmate, or something…” Yuta sounds pained, voice slurred and weak, like he used all his strength to voice his thoughts.

“What are you on about?” Doyoung asks, because really, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand one bit why Yuta is going on about something as stupid as soulmates.

“I don’t know,” Yuta sighs. “Nevermind,” 

Doyoung hums in response, turning to his side and facing Yuta. 

“Why are you crying?” Doyoung asks. He’s not worried. He’s confused. He feels like crying himself, but he doesn’t know why. “What’s wrong?”

Yuta opens his mouth, lets out a choked noise. Doyoung just giggles dumbly. His head is too light, body too heavy. Yuta sounds funny when he cries.

“I know, I’ll make you feel better!” Doyoung suggests enthusiastically. He shimmies down the bed, down to Yuta’s waist where he kisses the skin that rests on his hip bone. He leans his head against Yuta’s leg, staring at the blonde’s cock. 

“I wanna suck it,” Doyoung gasps, hands trembling as he tries to lift himself up.

Yuta doesn’t say anything, and Doyoung can’t see properly so he shifts forward, kissing the tip and licking Yuta's slit. Doyoung grimaces at the taste, but the weight of cock on his tongue has him moaning in the back of his throat.

“God, I love your dick,” he says, kissing the tip once more before sinking his mouth around the hardening member. He shudders. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this feeling.

“Doyoung,” he hears Yuta growl. Doyoung looks up, eyes making contact with Doyoung’s as he sinks down even further, nose touching Yuta’s neatly trimmed hairs and cock hitting the back of his throat, eyes tearing up. He smiles around the member, hands shaking as he grips Yuta’s hips. 

“Look,” he says when he comes up for air, words slurring as drool and precum falls from his lips. Tears overflow from his eyes, falling onto Yuta’s cock below. Doyoung giggles, one of his hands reaching to pump the younger’s cock. “Now we’re both crying,”

He hears Yuta gasp, feel his dick twitch with interest. Doyoung hums, giggles again before climbing into the blonde’s lap, hand trying to keep himself steady. 

“Lube,” Doyoung gasps, free hand teasing his rim. He hears Yuta scrambling to reach for the bottle on the nightstand, jostling Doyoung in his lap. Doyoung slips the tip of his finger in, sighing at the stretch and burn. He can hear Yuta’s labored breathing, and he wonders himself if that’s what he sounds like as he feels the younger’s lubed finger slipping in beside him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, throat closing up. His eyes water once more when Yuta starts moving his finger alongside his, toying with his rim and stretching it as far as he can before adding yet another finger. Doyoung can do nothing but tremble, loving the sting and the way Yuta spreads his hole.

“Fuck me,” Doyoung begs, sinking down on the fingers beneath him as far as he can. He whimpers when he feels another finger prodding at his opening. He feels boneless, dick bobbing as he twitches.

“Fuck,” he hears Yuta breathe before he takes his fingers out. Doyoung cries, mourning the loss of feeling full. It’s short lived though; as soon as Yuta’s fingers are gone, Doyoung’s hole is stuffed full with Yuta’s wet, aching cock.

“F-fuck,” Doyoung gasps. He grips Yuta’s shoulders, bouncing on his cock. His legs ache, but he can’t help but love the burn. He’s burning, from head to toe, every inch of his body thrumming with heat. “O-oh my god, fuck right there Yuta,”

Yuta leans forward, groaning in Doyoung’s ear as he flips them over. In this position, Yuta pounds Doyoung even harder, making him even more breathless and trapped in between the warm sheets and the burning of Yuta’s skin. He feels trapped, body lifeless. All Doyoung can do is lay there and take it as Yuta fucks him within an inch of his life. If Doyoung didn’t know any better, he would have mistaken it as love.

Maybe he does mistake it for love, because he starts to cry, just as Yuta had before, and cries out as he cums when the blonde rubs against all the right spots inside Doyoung again and again and again.

“F-fuck, fuck!” Doyoung gasps as he feels Yuta’s cock pulsate against his walls. There’s warmth deep within him, if only for a second, before Yuta pulls out and leaves Doyoung open and empty.

“I think I love you,” Doyoung blurts out.

Yuta pales, and proceeds to throw up all over Doyoung’s chest.

—

“We have to take a break,” Yuta’s voice comes to Doyoung through the speaker of his phone in broken pitches. The connection must be bad.

“What?” Doyoung asks because really, the connection was horrible. Airports aren’t good for phone calls, too bad Yuta was on his way to Italy for a recent booking. Doyoung smiles to himself; the makeup artists will sure have a hard time covering all of Doyoung’s markings on Yuta. Poor Yuta, too. The hangover must be a bitch.

“I’m sorry, the connection is bad. I said we should take a break,” Yuta says, voice clearer now. 

Doyoung’s smile disappears. “What?” He repeats. Doyoung thinks he heard wrong. “Take a break? What for? If it’s about last night then you don’t need to worry, I’m not actually mad or anything-“

“Doyoung,” Yuta interrupts, voice serious. “We should stop seeing each other. I’ll be traveling a lot soon, and keeping up this little game of ours won’t be good,” Yuta curses, mumbles, then apologizes again.

“Goodbye,” Yuta says, then hangs up before Doyoung even has a chance to respond or argue.

Doyoung is left with his chest heavy and the static of the phone line drowning out his cries.

—

The flame is blown out by a model named Sicheng. Doyoung saw them in a magazine, close and even closer with every turn of the page. Doyoung can see the hunger in Yuta’s eyes, and his stomach turns. Sicheng’s blonde, just like Yuta, bleached hair with closely buzzed sides and a face to envy. It makes sense Yuta would fall for someone unattainable, someone so utterly beautiful and untouchable. Doyoung saw it coming, and yet his heart feels heavy, like a weight is crushing his chest.

This is what loss must feel like, he thinks. Although, it’s not the loss of love, rather the loss of comfort in a loveless routine filled with soft skin and heated breaths. Doyoung doesn’t want to give it up. He hates when something isn’t his, when it is stolen. He doesn’t enjoy sharing, doesn’t want to. Yuta was his just as he was Yuta’s.

Was.

Now, Yuta belongs to someone else, and Doyoung belongs to no one.

Yuta won’t answer any of his calls. He’s blocked on every account he owns on every app and Doyoung doesn’t know anyone else who has Yuta’s contact number. It’s like he never existed in Doyoung’s life at all.

Doyoung watches as the days pass and the bruises from his last night with Yuta blend back into his flesh. With every passing day, his body heals and his heart breaks more.

Maybe it’s a good thing Yuta left Doyoung. After all, it wasn’t like it was going anywhere. In fact, Yuta never actually belonged to Doyoung like he thought. In fact, they didn’t belong to each other at all. 

Doyoung couldn’t help it though.

He wishes that they were soulmates so he wouldn’t have to think about what Sicheng has that he doesn’t. So he doesn’t have to think about his skin rubbing against Yuta’s, his body intertwining with Yuta’s and becoming one, his desire and Yuta’s intermingling to spark a flame Doyoung could not join.

Doyoung wishes he could’ve stopped the spark before it ignited.

But no matter how many times he was warned by his own self-consciousness, just like Icarus, Doyoung flew too close to the sun and burned up.

He can only hope his ashes will find a way to fly again, to feel the warmth of the sun once more and see the bright light shine upon their charred skins.

—

It’s cold when Doyoung wakes, sun setting and trying to crawl underneath Doyoung’s eyelids to find shelter in the dark. He pulls himself out of his bedsheets, silk robe doing nothing to warm him from the bitter winter air.

Doyoung heads out to his balcony, brand new menthol cigarettes in hand as he looks up at the sky, now dark, and blinks back at the twinkling stars. The moon is bright tonight, and Doyoung lights one of his cigarettes, resting his arms against the frozen railing. He inhales, chest heavy, skin cold. He exhales, watches as smoke blooms from his mouth and lungs and swallows up the moon.

The smoke clears, and Doyoung stares at the moon. Doyoung thinks it looks beautiful tonight, big and bright in the endless dark of the sky. He wonders if it feels alone, just like him. He hopes not. He hopes the stars are keeping the moon company. He’d hate for it to be alone.

Doyoung finishes up his cigarette, putting it out in his ashtray before looking up at the sky once more.

It starts to snow. Doyoung feels the last of the warmth from his cigarette seep from his skin into the cold. Snowflakes land on his skin, and he observes as they melt into his flesh. 

Despite the cold, Doyoung feels the weight from his chest thaw, and for the first time in years, Doyoung flies.

**Author's Note:**

> blame this on quarantine, i hope you enjoyed <3


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